


(I am horrible at titles and will think of one when I am done with this fic.)

by sootonthecarpet



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Angsty Schmoop, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Declarations Of Love, Episode 25 One Year Later, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Presumed Dead, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Sleepovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 11:01:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sootonthecarpet/pseuds/sootonthecarpet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill for: So Cecil was pretty devastated when he thought Carlos was dead, but it didn't exactly last long given that he found out the truth in the space of a pre-recorded public service announcement. What I'd like to see is what would happen if Cecil <i>didn't</i> immediately find out the truth. Maybe he leaves the radio station before he can get the message, maybe Carlos is hurt a little worse than in canon and thus can't immediately go see Cecil. Basically I just want to see Cecil suffering a little more <strike>because I am a terrible person</strike> before ultimately finding out that Carlos is okay.</p><p>HAS MULTIPLE CHAPTERS BUT I FORGOT TO CHECK THE BOX AT THE START SO UNTIL I FINISH CHAPTER TWO, KNOW THAT THIS IS <i>CHAPTER 1/?</i> RATHER THAN 1/1</p>
            </blockquote>





	(I am horrible at titles and will think of one when I am done with this fic.)

Cecil did not go home early. He was ashen and shaking and red-eyed by the end of the broadcast, but he did not stop it, even if the last few minutes of it were full of repressed sobs and tiny whimpers. One of the interns, sober, respectful, and trembling slightly, handed him a cup of coffee as he pushed himself up and away from the table. He took it and sipped it, trying to pay attention to it, but it shook in his hand as he forced back another sob, and he had to set it down before leaving. He got into his car and had to spend a few minutes composing himself by curling into a small ball in the passenger seat and sobbing roughly. He took an out of the way route home, not wanting to run someone over in his distracted state. When he did get there, he opened a tin of bean soup and managed to get it heating on the stovetop, although he was intermittently stopping to wipe his eyes.

The trophy he had acquired for Carlos sat on the counter, and he did his best not to look at it, but it wasn't a dog park or a hooded figure or a vague shape, it was just an object, and it drew his attention like a magnet drew iron.

The soup was hot and would have been delicious. He sat in the deepest recess of the sofa and sniffled over it, eating slowly. When he was done, he put the dish in the sink—he didn't have the heart to wash anything at the moment—and started doing the only appropriate thing, the act of constructing a pillow fort in the corner, following City Council's building regulations to the letter. He sent a notice to the Sheriff's Secret Police informing them of the construction, then filled it with blankets and crept inside. It did help, a bit. He felt a little safer and a little more secure. It didn't do anything about the gaping wound in his soul, but he hadn't expected a miracle.

Waking up in the morning, in his bed in his apartment in his town. Something inexpressible seemed to hold him down to the bed, but not the way that a mara or incubus does, he was used to that. It dragged on his limbs without being real. It was a lack of something. A lack of Carlos, he remembered. He rolled over, burying his face in the pillow, and did not want to get up.

"Hello," he said, voice stuffy even over the phone. "I can't come in today, I'm calling in sick," he told the worried intern. He had never, ever, in anyone's memory, taken a day off of work.

"Station Management won't like that... We'll bring the equipment over, if we can," she said, sounding very concerned.

"Thank you," he said. He had no desire to upset station management, he just didn't have the will to get out of his pyjamas and into his car. He took his blankets to his regulation standard pillow fort and stayed there with the spiders until he heard a soft tap at his door.

"Uh, the microphone wasn't actually connected to anything," said Christie, the intern, holding it up reverently. "Like... ever. Jim and I tested it to see if it worked anyway, and it did, so we just brought it over." She hesitated, then handed him a Thermos. "We made coffee," she said.

"Thanks," he said, genuinely touched, with his voice still hoarse from sobbing himself to sleep.

 

"Dear listeners.... I do not have news for you today. I am in a regulation-compliant pillow fort and have not left my apartment since I got here last night. Some very kind interns brought my equipment to me to save me from the wrath of Station Management, but I don't know what's going on out there at all. It is a vast, lonely world outside of my apartment, as opposed to an equally lonely, yet smaller and more comforting one here within the confines of my blanket fort. I still have the trophy I was going to give to Carlos... I urge you not to let this awful, untimely death be in vain—it—I.... Just... remember that when you see someone, you might not ever—I, I'm sorry, I can't—ah.... I'm sorry. In the absence of news, the, the rest of my broadcast will be a reading of my favourite sonnets."

 

He did make it to the station the next day, taking the microphone with him in a velvet-lined shoebox, cradled in his lap next to the Thermos from the interns. But he was not able to report on anything. He had nothing to say. He interviewed his interns about their positions to fill the time, and he only went on one tragic monologue, so that was good, he assured himself. A few more days dragged by in the same manner, so slowly, so, so slowly. He was feeling a little bit better. He still hardly spoke to anyone, but he wasn't crying more than once or twice a day. He only clutched the trophy when he slept, not when he was broadcasting. His pillow fort had been disassembled and its parts returned to their previous locations. His broadcasts were gaining back some of their old detail—only some.

 

He was in a corner at Big Rico's, staring sadly into a bowl of hot tomato sauce. People kept casting him worried glances, and even that _jerk_ , Steve Carlsberg, had looked at him pityingly when they passed each other on the sidewalk. He ate in a manner both mournful and mechanic, not looking up for anyone, even when one of his interns, stopping for xir mandatory meal of the week, patted him kindly on the shoulder. "Thanks," he mumbled into his tomato sauce, and heaved a great, trembling sigh.

He heard the door open—he could hear a great deal. He thought he smelled lavender, and he sniffled slightly, then busied himself in the consumption of his meal. Someone slid in next to him, strengthening the smell of lavender, and he jumped a little. He looked up cautiously and—

_Carlos_

**_Carlos_ **

"I heard you were pretty upset," said his unmistakable, _perfect_ voice, and Cecil made a lugubrious moaning noise and clutched at Carlos, or whatever was wearing his shape, whatever it was, Cecil just clung to it desperately, whimpering into its shoulder.

"Cecil?" Carlos asked, sounding concerned, and Cecil is sure it's him, _it's really him_ , **alive**.

"Carlos," Cecil gasped roughly, putting his arms around Carlos's ribs. Carlos winced, and the tiny bit of Cecil's mind not completely overwhelmed recognized that sound as awful and pulled away, biting his lip with a slightly guilty expression.

"You should come outside," Carlos said, putting his hand over Cecil's. Cecil paid for his food and left, making it out the door before sinking to a crouch, leaning back against the wall with a great shudder. Carlos sat next to him, and Cecil clung to his wrist.

"Tell me what's wrong?" Carlos asked.

"You were _dead_!" Cecil cried. He held himself rigid to stop himself from clinging again. He couldn't hurt Carlos, especially not now.

Carlos looked confused. "No I wasn't," he said. "I was hurt pretty bad... They had to take me to the hospital... Nobody told you? You didn't _know_?"

Cecil just shook his head weakly and propped it between his knees.

"Oh... Cecil... that's awful. I'm so sorry..."

"I want to go home," Cecil said, abruptly, feeling very uncomfortable and exposed on the street, even though he knew it was silly, because of course, they were always watching.

Carlos looked at him, looking almost hurt. "Are you mad at me?" He asked in a sad, disbelieving whisper. Cecil realized what he must have sounded like and swallowed thickly. "No," he said immediately, touching Carlos's cheek with infinite delicacy. "Please never let me put that look on your perfect face again," he added, drawing away. "I want to go home because I don't want to have this conversation out here, that's all."

"Oh," Carlos said, looking very relieved.

They drove to Cecil's apartment, Cecil hating the distance between them, two whole cars away, what if Carlos wasn't even in the other one when they got there? He shook those thoughts away, and showed Carlos through the door when they arrived. He mutely pointed Carlos towards the softest chair, then, himself, all but fell onto the sofa.

"I heard you were dead," Cecil told him. "I thought you were dead."

"I was in the hospital," Carlos said, "Until a little while ago. I was awake for your last two broadcasts and I came to find you as quickly as I could. I have a lot of injuries. It really hurts," he added, pushing his hair back from his face anxiously. "I was unconscious, _very_ unconscious, but I made it. I think there must have been some black magic involved—there's some sort of weird rune burned into my wrist, and sometimes it glows..."

Cecil nodded. "Do you promise you're not dead?" he asked.

"Of course," Carlos said, meeting his eyes very seriously.

"Thank you," Cecil said, then gulped. His eyes were steadily filling with tears.

"Oh," Carlos said, taking a few moments to realize. "Oh, Cecil, please don't cry."

Carlos got up and moved to the sofa next to Cecil, sitting down very carefully. He rested his hand on Cecil's knee.

"Don't cry," he said again. Cecil put his hand over Carlos's, pushing his fingers between, and then under, Carlos's.

"Is it safe to touch you?" Cecil asked. "How badly are you hurt?"

"Be gentle," Carlos said, holding out his arms, eyes big and soft. Cecil inched closer and put one arm very carefully around Carlos's side, resting his palm carefully against the soft, worn down lab coat. Carlos leaned his cheek on Cecil's shoulder with a sigh, wrapping both arms loosely around him.

"We lost you," Cecil said, and it was a whimper. "All of us, I thought we'd lost you. I lost you. You're so important, Carlos, and you were dead..."

"I'm not dead, Cecil."

"I know," Cecil said with a bit of a hiccup. "But I'd lost you. There was—there was a lot of crying, Carlos."

Carlos gently kissed his hair, and Cecil didn't know his heart could flutter when he was so sad, but it did, and he dared to put his other arm around Carlos.

"You're very important," Cecil added, and bit his lip. "I think you might have thought I was joking when I said I was in love with you, but I wasn't then, and I'm certainly not now, either." He leaned against Carlos very carefully. "Please don't let it happen again," he said. "Please don't. You're so strong and brave and beautiful, but don't let yourself get hurt like this again."

Carlos sighed. "I'll try," he said softly.

Cecil nodded. "Can I see where you're hurt?" he asked hesitantly. "I want to look."

Carlos shifted away and fiddled with the button of one sleeve under his labcoat. "I guess," he said, sounding slightly nervous. He took off the labcoat and folded it carefully, putting it on the sofa next to them and patting it absently. "I, um," he said, uncertain. He unbuttoned his cuff and pushed it up his arm. "Here's the thing in my arm, anyway," he said, looking away. "The other stuff, I don't think I wan—I mean—they're not pretty." His free hand rested on his shirt collar as Cecil took the marked arm into careful hands.

"I don't know this one," Cecil said, touching the mark. "But I'm not a doctor... I'm glad it's here. It might go away once you're healed," he said, neutral and very soft. "May I kiss you?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"I want you to," Carlos said. He put his arms around Cecil again when their lips met, and drew him close. They were pressed together, but soft bandages under Carlos's shirt cushioned it enough that it didn't hurt.

It was so warm and secure like this.

Carlos broke their kiss with a shudder, and trailed a line of tinier kisses down Cecil's jaw and throat before burying himself in Cecil's neck. "I didn't want to die, either," he said, unsteady. Cecil's hands crept into his hair. "I didn't want to die, and I was afraid."

"Carlos, my Carlos, lovely, wonderful Carlos," Cecil whispered. "I promise to keep you safe, if I can, Carlos, don't forget. Even if I can't, I'll wait for you at the hospital, and you can come to me whenever you want me to help, or if you're just lonely. I can make you sandwiches when you're busy. You can even come and see me when I'm broadcasting if you are quiet, and you can stay at my apartment when you're scared, and—" Carlos kissed him again, very gently, but even that was enough to put a halt to his thoughts and speech. They went on like this for quite a while. Carlos traced his fingers along Cecil's back. When he did open his mouth, he found that Cecil had done the same, and they pressed closer, unsteady.

"Stay the night, please?" Cecil asked when, at length, they parted. "This—this is not a night I want to spend alone."

Carlos frowned. "I'm not up for sex right now," he said.

"No, I didn't mean that, of course you're not up for sex right now. But it would be very good if you were here in my apartment. I think we would both feel much better."

"I don't have my pyjamas."

"No, but you can borrow some of mine."

Carlos wasn't sure they would fit, but he nodded. Cecil went and fetched a pair, and offered it to Carlos. He took them to Cecil's bathroom and changed there. Mildly surprising was the way they were neither too loose nor too tight, although he was quite sure that he and Cecil were different sizes. But they were soft and comfortable, and it had been a long time since he had worn someone else's sleepwear, so he emerged quite content, and Cecil, engaged in the task of unfolding the sofa, took one look at him and seemed to radiate happiness.

"Alright?" Carlos asked him, watching as he ducked under the newly formed bed to etch something on the floor with a knife.

"Yes," Cecil said, putting the knife into the dishwasher and getting blankets out of the closet. "I have to send a Notice of Temporary Bed Establishment," he said, going over to an ancient and ominous fax machine. "You can go and get yourself something to eat."

Carlos shuffled to the small kitchen, looking through the cabinets. He supposed Cecil had expected him to heat up something for himself, but he ended up doing his best to make a very nice meal for the both of them. Cecil wandered in partway through and watched with slightly perplexed and lovingly concerned eyes. "You're supposed to be resting," he said. "Are you sure you're okay to be standing for so long?"

Carlos shrugged. "Cooking is relaxing. I know it's a bit late for a big meal, but I didn't have any dinner and you didn't finish yours..."

Cecil nodded and came closer. "It smells really good," he said. Carlos was very pleased.

They ate quietly, ankles pressed together. Cecil cleaned up afterwards, then took Carlos by the arm. "It's late," he assured. "You should really get to bed."

Carlos wasn't sure he agreed—he would have quite liked to stay awake with Cecil a while longer—but he could tell he was very, very tired, so he acquiesced. He was making for the sofa, but Cecil shook his head and steered him towards the bedroom. Carlos mumbled a few cursory protests as Cecil pulled back the covers and nudged him into Cecil's (very soft, very comfortable) bed.

"Don't you try to complain," Cecil told him. "One of us is a humble radio host and the other is a brave, wounded, very handsome scientist. It's only fair you get the bed." Carlos blushed and pulled the blankets partway up his face. Cecil smiled. "You can wake me up if you need anything," he assured, and then very diligently and carefully tucked Carlos in, which made Carlos blush a great deal more.

Cecil smiled. "There," he said, and crouched to kiss Carlos on the temple. He left the room, taking some pyjamas with him, and changed into them. He got into the sofa bed still feeling warm and fuzzy inside, but as he waited to fall asleep, he started to feel a little more lonely. Eventually, he worried. He curled up, pulling his blanket tighter to try and facilitate a mental comfort to match the physical one, but it didn't change how he felt. He felt that Carlos was too far away. He drifted off for a little while, but couldn't stay asleep. He sat up in the darkness and pulled his blanket close, watching the dark, empty room.

Eventually, there came a scuffling, and Carlos entered.

"Cecil? Hey."

Cecil stood and walked over. "Is everything alright?" he asked, not saying what he was feeling, 'thank god you do still exist and I hadn't imagined you and you didn't die while I wasn't there to keep you safe by obsessively staring at your perfect hair.'

Carlos sighed and greeted him with a careful hug. "It's lonely in your room. And I'm hurting a lot," he added. "It's tough to sleep without whatever that stuff they were giving me to drink at the hospital was." Carlos had learned pretty quickly not to question the methods of the Night Vale doctors, if only out of self-preservation.

Cecil kissed his cheek softly. "Want me to join you...?"

"Yes, please."

Cecil smiled and took the pillow from the sofa, tucking it under his arm, and walked to his bedroom with Carlos, where he set the pillow on the bed. They got in carefully, just lying on their backs next to each other. Carlos's warm, calloused hand found Cecil's softer, cooler one, and Cecil sighed.

"Thanks again for cooking dinner," Cecil said. "But you'd better let me do breakfast tomorrow. You're supposed to be resting..." He edged closer until his side was pressed against Carlos's. "You'll have plenty of time to cook whatever you like once you've let your wounds heal up."

Carlos nodded and rolled onto his side, putting his arms around Cecil. Cecil made a quiet 'oh' sound, like he hadn't realized cuddling was a thing right now.

"Carlos..."

Carlos picked up Cecil's arm and put it over himself so that Cecil was reciprocating the hug.

"Carlos..."

"It's much nicer this way," Carlos said with a smile Cecil could hear. Cecil blushed a little and, through the darkness, gazed at him like the delicate and breathtaking thing that he was. Carlos snuggled under his arm until he found somewhere particularly comfortable.

"Uh, Cecil?"

"Yes?"

"You do sleep, right?"

Cecil chuckled a little. "Of course I sleep, Carlos."

"Alright."

**Author's Note:**

> sflasgfjnjhfkdksfhjklsdfjhk cuddles alkjghfkdslgjhfdfsdal
> 
> Taking a break now because it is obviously time to write more guro.


End file.
